Motherly advice

On the phone with my mother today: "Normal is a vacuum that just gets filled with more and more shit."

I'm paraphrasing, of course.

Getting it Wrong

It's been a while. A long while. More on that later (which, let's be honest, could mean never).

But, I have been thinking recently about this quote and my re-naming of this blog. An interesting Freudian slip, if you ask me. As it turns out, I'm an optimist in such matters—looking for the possibility of a fresh start in the old, entertaining the possibility that such a thing exists.

Had a long conversation about all of this with SD this weekend, who had an interesting take on things. Namely, regarding the very nature of love and attachment. In so many words she thought that you can't will yourself not to be attached to someone or not to love them, you can simply wish that wasn't the case or not be willing to address such feelings. Which is both somewhat reassuring to think about and also somewhat upsetting. In the end, I suppose, it may simply be a case for cynicism.

More on this later, when my sickness-addled brain is working.

The more things change...

The more they stay the same.

Yes, It's a trite expresson. And, yet, I'm finding it to be true all the same.

To wit: I keep telling myself that I'll write more when I have something to say. The truth is that I have plenty to say, but it's just more of the same. Patterns repeating and all the rest of it.

So, what's on my mind these days? Something similar to this essay, which I wrote about six year ago.

I'm nothing if not consistent.

So there's that.

little things

Mostly still trying to sort out the past few months. Mostly.

I've started a new project in the meantime, just to focus on the good things at hand and as an attempt to stave off whatever depression may be lurking round the corner. Check it out here.

A small effort, to be sure. But, usually, I find, small things add up—in either direction. So, I'm aiming upward.

Long Story Short

And then it happens, despite your best intentions to the contrary.

Or, at least that's true for me.

It was mid-September, already feeling like fall, and my plans had changed suddenly—I was going home for a funeral. Nevermind that I hadn't spoken to the deceased in more than ten years; she had been important to me at one point in my life, and I needed to be there.

There was a man, N., in the picture at the time. He had stolen into my apartment in the middle of the night. I knew he was coming, but it stirred me from my sleep all the same. Then the next day, he was leaving the city in much the same way that he had arrived in my apartment the night before—meaning that he had been making murmurings, it was nothing unexpected. Yet suddenly they sounded serious, suddenly there was a time frame.

I didn't realize that I cared until it seemed to be too late.

I tend to disassociate from my emotions, or so I've been told. But, not on the day of the funeral. Instead, I was near tears. It was a number of things, really: the lack of sleep, the difficulty of going to any funeral, the trip after to see my own grandfather's grave—how we had gotten completely lost and how shocking it seemed to be to see my own surname on the headstone when we finally arrived. I grew up in a family where children didn't go to funerals and so had never been to his grave before.

In my mind, the day exists mostly in the details: the misting rain that made the ground so damp that my heels dug into it; the smoothness of the stone I placed on my grandfather's grave to signal that I had been there; the steady sound of N.'s breathing over the phone as I talked about the difficulty of it all and his suggestion that, maybe, just maybe, sleep was what I needed; the suprise to discover that I, who doesn't cry easily, was actually crying.

And, there I was, a few months later, crying again—sobbing, actually. Things were over at that point. In fact, we were supposed to be meeting persumably to talk about that. Instead, I was talking about a family health issue. Or, trying, rather. I couldn't get any words out. Couldn't do much of anything.

And, again, most of the night is in the details: the hasty departure from the bar since, clearly, I couldn't be there or anywhere in public for that matter; the scratch of his sweater against my face as he held me; how my back started to ache from the strength of my sobs; my knowing that I would forgive all else, that I had to, because I had no energy left to be angry, left to be anything.

It's easy, in retrospect, to say that these things don't matter, that hindsight is 20/20 and all the rest of it.

But, I was there.

And, months later, I find myself trying to make sense of it all. Of why things happen in the way that they do. Or, more specifically, why this played out as it did. I don't cry; I make a sarcastic comment, brush it off, and move on. Yes, this was different—and, yes, much, much worse—than anything I've ever had to (or possibly will have to) live through. But him?

Maybe it's as simple as this: he was there.

I don't know.

I'm inclined to think that's not the case, that what's important stays so.

There's this, too: I wanted to be right about him.

Something to consider

Earlier this weekend, ILS told me that murphy's law seemed to apply to my life more than most. I think that she might be right. I also think that I might be encouraging this.

I'm working on a few things, which I'll post soon. For now, I'm in recovery mode. I'll get to that later.

This Shape of Things We're In

sur·re·al (sə rē'əl, –rēl'), adj.

1. having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream; unreal; fantastic   2. the period spanning from July 2008 through January 2009, with particular focus on mid-October through early December; see also the days surrounding Christmas and the new year   3. being not-quite-sober and telling your not-quite-boyfriend that your best friend and his best friend's husband are having an affair, then watching the subsequent events unfold, not knowing what to do; finding yourself using phrases like "moral compass" in complete earnestness; finding yourself dealing with fall-out many months later and still being unsure what you should do and/or say    4. having repeated circular conversations about subjects including, but not limited to, red suitcases, the status of a relationship that has long since ended but that you are perpetuating in some ways because you are simply too raw about all of the other things going on in your life to enact the decisions you know that you need to and that would be healthier for both of you, and seats assigned at a kitchen table    5. hearing the phrase "8 to 12 months" and trying to picture what your life will be like at that point, hoping that it will be much the same. well, perhaps with more positive things thrown in for good measure    6. watching your job get parceled out before your eyes and being forced to attend meeting after meeting to weigh in    7. realizing that there's a lot more that you could add to this list, but that you don't have time because you need to work since your dead-end job hasn't been parceled out quite yet    8. realizing that you made this list in the first place   sur·re'al·ly, adv. —sur·re·al'i·ty (–al'i tē), n.

Fair Usage

I'm on a Bob Creeley kick.

Here's why:

The Sentence

There is that in love

which, by the syntax of,

men find women and join

their bodies to their minds

—which wants so to acquire

a continuity, a place,

a demonstration that it must

be one's own sentence.

Adaptive Strategies

I fake it really well.

What I mean is this: I say enough to retain the appearance of openness and honesty without having to sacrifice either. Call it an adaptive strategy, if you will.

When you have things to hide, you learn what to share. It's a trade. I'll give you this much; in return, just don't ask too many questions.

In comics, there's a term called closure. It refers to the space between the panels. You read what's implied, what you'd like. It's a way of moving the story forward without having to say much.

I'm not sure what it's called in life.

On and on and on

It's funny, the way that when you have bad news the natural instinct is to protect the person with whom you're sharing it, to soften the blow.

Or, maybe that's just me.

In any case, I find that I've been doing that a lot these days. Putting on a brave face, smiling, making the best of it. Here's what I think: there are times when there is no "best of it", or to put it more bluntly, some things are just awful with no good reason.

This week started feeling like a bad hangover from the week before. Hell, the month before. Changes all around, and none of them feel good. So, I'm doing a lot of waiting right now. Once the dust settles, hopefully I'll have a better handle on what it all means.

And, yet, I still have the strange sensation of being lucky. Of being in the right place at the right time, career-wise at least. On the personal end of things, I'm feeling anything but.

You can't have it all, I guess.

I want simple things, really. Just stability. The ability to see beyond the immediate. Faith in the long term of things.

None of this is looking likely at this particular juncture.

So, in the meantime, I'm trying to stick to all of the other decisions I've been making. And, for now, failing miserably it seems, much to the chagrin of those affected by my choices, I'm sure.

It's a process. I'll get there. Where ever that is.

Same-auld lang syne

So, the new year.

I thought about posting a recap of 2008, but to be honest, I'm not sure that I really want to revisit much of it. It was a hard year, to say the least. I'm trying to look ahead now.

We'll see how that goes, I guess. Right now 2009 is looking about the same as its predecessor. But, it's early, so hopefully that'll change.

The days around the new year were, well, strange. No other word for it.

I went around as if in a fog, constantly trying to remind myself that I was seeing things as I wanted them to be, not as they were. That none of this was real. Still, the escape did me some good, at least in the moment. Which made going back all the harder. And, I'm still trying to figure out what it all means--if it means anything, that is--and where I go from here.

This much is certain: I have some difficult decisions to make in the upcoming days.

Or, more precisely, I've made some difficult decisions. That's never been the issue. It's the sticking to them. I'm not sure why knowing something is the right decision doesn't make doing it any easier. I keep telling myself that at least I should be comforted by the fact that I'm not in a state of delusion. I'm doing all the wrong things, but I'm aware. As if it really makes a difference.

I'm teetering on the edge of something, and maybe the thing to do is just give in and let go.

Like a severed head that finishes a sentence

It's no secret that I'm not doing well these days.

It's been two weeks since I've known, one since I've been back here.

And, it's hard being here. But, really, it's hard being anywhere these days.

At this point, the only thing that I know is that I have no idea what I need. Or, to put it a clearer way: I'm a black hole of need, and I'm worried that I'm going to suck everyone around me dry. I'm afraid that I'm already doing it. Intellectually, I know that I need support and to be around other people. But, the reality is that I don't know how to even begin asking.

I want to tell my friends that I understand, I wouldn't want to be on the other end of the phone with me, either. I wouldn't know what to say. And, those that do, well, they've come by that knowledge in a way that I hope not to in a long while.

I'm learning, though. Or, trying. Whatever that means.

I'm being cryptic, yes. Mostly because it's just too hard to talk about and because, well, I really just don't know which end is up.

I'll be more coherent and articulate soon. Promise.

In the meantime, happy 2009.

May it be healthy.

Ten Things I Think About Going Home on the LIRR Today

1. Maybe I should try writing again. Maybe that will help me make sense of it all.


2. Words and phrases that could describe my current state: anchorless, unmoored, adrift, underwater, raw, flayed, without a net. And, lost. Lost is a good one.


3. Fine, I was right about going into self-preservation mode. But, I also think that I was right to feel the way I did. So, I don't regret it.


4. This does not change a thing, really, but cannot be a bad thing. Right?


5. Sleep might help.


6. People can surprise you if given half a chance and if you let them.


7. I wish that I could stop thinking.


8. Saying thank you is insufficient.


9. I'm lucky in many respects. I have to remember that.


10. Breathing is a form of relief. I have to remember that, too.

Ill Advised Everything

The construction woke me up early this morning after a night of strange dreams punctuated by sleeplessness.

So, hours awake, wondering why, for once, I was remembering my dreams. And, wondering, too, if I'm doing the right thing in so many different circumstances.

Coffee.

And, more later.

In the aftermath

Dinner and drinks with PP last night, followed by a show. We got to talking about this fall, lessons learned, all the stuff that comes when you're sharing a bottle of wine.

She filled me in on more developments from across the city - telling me something which made me feel awful, although in this case, at least, the fatal blow had nothing to do with me.

The thing is that despite everything that's happened, I still feel like I made the right decision back in October. At least the right decision for me and the one that I could live with.

So, there's that. Which is good, I guess.

A while back, during a conversation about all of this, I told NK that the worst part, I thought, was how quickly one gets used to things. The hurts fade and current reality seeps in, and in a flash the current shape of things passes for normal.

I'm discovering now how very true that statement was.

So, I was right, as I am about a good many things . This isn't arrogance. Truly, I wish I wasn't.

Oh, well.